Not Mine

If I had this to do alone
There would be no
question as to the outcome

An end I cannot condone
Independent of the
game's end sum

But this is not my story
Written by another
Dependent on my acting

I have no want of glory
The toll it pays on freedom
Is much too exacting

The design is not my own
For that I am most grateful
My words would lack hope

Far darker is my tone
So high thunder mountain
So steep failure's slope

I continue to remember
It belongs to someone else
And the sting subsides

April, June then September
I force my feet onward
In effect I'm choosing sides

My strength is suspect
And the effort I exhort
Is swallowed by fear

I have so little effect
While I struggle in the quag
Death's maw draws near

But my hope is that seed
From a branch to high to see
If I have the faith to tend it

I am overwhelmed by weed
Strangled by my writhing
At a loss to defend it

I stand with head held high
Not because of pride within me
But because of sacrifice

In this race there is no tie
It is won in the night
Before the cocks crows thrice

All rights reserved to James Martin Cox